


Joy Comes In The Morning

by mortma1984



Category: Psych
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortma1984/pseuds/mortma1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.</i>
</p>
<p>For Shawn and Juliet the fairytale had no happily ever after. But when tragedy strikes, can you still find a way to move on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a fic that is originally posted at Psychfic.com. It is, to date, the story I have written that I am the most pleased with. And now, for a whole new audience, I bring you my soulfic.
> 
> Warning: character death and a whole lot of angst. Enjoy!

Shawn was happy. Terrified, too. Convinced that he would soon wake up to find that this was all a dream? You bet. But right now, right in this moment, right in this dream that he was living, he was happy.

“Hey, you,” he whispered into Juliet’s ear as he walked past her desk, letting his hand trace a trail against her neck, making her shiver.

“Hey, yourself,” she said and tilted her head back to look at him. “What are you doing here so early?”

Shawn sat down at the edge of her desk and placed his feet on the wheels of her chair, absently pushing her back and forth a little before Juliet gave him a look that made him stop. Shawn grinned and picked up a pen instead, drawing tiny doodles in the margin of a legal pad lying on her desk. “Nothing much,” he replied with a shrug. “Just, you know, dropping by.”

Juliet didn’t look convinced. “Just dropping by? At nine in the morning?”

“Sure. Isn’t a man allowed to come see his fiancée for no particular reason?”

She looked at him dubiously through her eyelashes, then decided to let it slide, as she was not about to argue with him this early in the day. Besides, after two years as Shawn Spencer’s girlfriend she had learned that the best way to get something out of him was to simply let him get to the point in his own time. “All right, then,” she said and tried to retract a file he was currently sitting on. “Since you’re already here, maybe you can help me look at this file.” She handed it to him, and he accepted greedily.

He scanned it quickly, an intense look of concentration on his face. Juliet watched him in silence, as always interested in seeing him work. She had been fascinated with his gift from the very beginning, and now that she got to observe it from up close even more so. She believed he could solve practically anything, which was why she wasn't surprised when he slammed shut the file and grinned smugly at her.

What he said, however, took her by surprise. "You need to talk to the gardener."

She arched her eyebrows in surprise. “The gardener? What does he have to do with anything?”

Shawn sighed in mock exasperation, then opened the file again. “Look here,” he said and pointed to the first picture, explaining as if he were talking to a child. Juliet rolled her eyes at him, but followed along. “The puncture wound.”

“Yes? It’s from a pair of scissors. From the wife’s sewing kit.”

Shawn shook his head, more intense now. “Look closer.”

Juliet leaned in, her forehead furrowed in concentration. “I don’t see anything.”

“Are you sure?”

She looked up at him. “Pretty sure.”

“Hmm. We really should consider those glasses, shouldn’t we?”

“Shawn,” Juliet warned, and he smirked at her.

“Yes, my carton of freshly squeezed, non-canned pineapple juice?”

She looked at him and stifled a snort at his pet name, then she glared. “I don’t need glasses.” She snatched the file out of his hands and looked at the picture again. Shawn was impatiently tapping his nails against the surface of Juliet’s desk, and it was all she could do not to kick him in the shin to make him stop. She was just about to close the file and tell him he was seeing things that weren’t there, when suddenly a miniscule detail jumped out at her. 

“Is that?” She pulled the file closer, her right hand grabbing for a magnifying glass.

“What is that you’re seeing, Jules?” Shawn asked in amusement and handed her the magnifying glass. “Could it be? Is it possible that once again Santa Barbara’s finest has been beaten by a lone psychic?”

“That’s grass,” Juliet stated incredulously. “I can’t believe it.” She looked up from the file, her eyes large. “How did you see that?”

Shawn shrugged and winked at her. “I see all, Jules. It’s how it works.”

“Huh. You see all, do you? The Spirits didn't help at all?” 

Shawn's face fell, and an almost pained expression crossed his face, before it turned into a bashful smile. He shrugged. "Well, they helped. Obviously."

She chuckled, then looked back to the picture. “So if that’s grass, then that means that the puncture wounds are not from a pair of scissors.” She frowned and held the file in one hand, eyes glazing over as she looked up with a pensive expression. “I always thought they looked too big to be scissors,” she added, her eyes glazing over as she tried to think.

“They’re from garden shears,” Shawn supplemented. “Small ones, but with the grass stains in the wound they can be nothing else.”

Juliet looked at him. “If you're right..." She stood up. "I have to go.” 

Shawn jumped down from her desk and he handed her the coat slung over the back of her chair.

“I know.” He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll see you tonight?”

She nodded and brushed a piece of imaginary fluff off his shirt, her hand lingering slightly longer than necessary. “You will. I’ll see you then.”

“You will.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said as he started to walk away. His heart was beating furiously in his chest, and he knew he looked like an idiot, grinning like this. But he couldn’t find it in him to care. He was perfectly happy, and nothing could ruin this day.  
\-----  
Gus was the first one to find out.

He had been about to finish his route when Shawn called, demanding that he come meet him at the office. There had been a breakthrough in their case, and he needed Gus to come down and help him out. Gus knew better than anyone that "I need your help" really meant "I need your car," but Shawn had been so insistent that he couldn't resist. Besides, his route was almost finished, and if worse came to worst then he would just finish tomorrow. It was a quiet week. Not that he would tell Shawn that, of course; then he would never get any real work done.

Halfway to the office he came upon a crime scene and he slowed down, scanning the crowd for a sign of a familiar face. Just because Shawn had said to meet at the office didn't mean he hadn't left already. For all Gus knew he was already there, bothering Lassiter and Juliet, while Gus had to drive all the way to the office then back again. Spotting Lassiter's car, he stopped. And though he couldn't see Shawn yet, he got out, convinced his friend would be there soon. Shawn seemed to have a sixth sense for these things.

For a brief moment he considered calling him to find out where he was, but decided against it when he saw Lassiter come out of the house, a very serious expression on his face. Gus was looking for a way in when a police officer – Jackson, he thought his name was – came and met him.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you through,” he said and held out a hand to stop him.

“What?” Gus asked in confusion. “But I work with the police.” He tried to look over Officer Jackson’s shoulder, but the house was blocked from view as yet another police officer – Mitchell – came to join them.

Mitchell was a rookie that he and Shawn had taken a liking to when he first started to work for the SBPD, and they had gotten to know him pretty well over the last few months. They knew they could count on him to get them into crime scenes where other, more seasoned cops would keep them out, which was why Gus got even more confused when Mitchell shook his head and put a hand on Gus's shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a serious look on his face. His voice was low, and there was something in his eyes that suddenly made Gus irrationally worried.

“What’s going on, Mitch?” Gus asked in confusion. “Shawn told me to come down here.”

Mitchell frowned. “Shawn told you to come down here?”

“Well,” Gus amended. “He didn’t exactly say to meet him here.”

He gave Officer Mitchell a look, for the first time taking in his rumpled appearance and his distant look. Then he took in the appearance of everyone else at the scene. He saw Lassiter walk with careful, deliberate steps, almost as if he had to force himself to keep moving. There were medics swarming the place, and someone had cordoned off an area around the house.

And then, lastly, he saw the Chief. He knew something was wrong as soon as their eyes met. Never in all his years working with the Santa Barbara Police Department had he seen the Chief shy away from anything. But when he met her eyes her gaze faltered, and a deep unease settled in his chest.

“What’s going on?” he asked, still looking around for a sign of Shawn. He couldn’t see him anywhere, and he wondered when his friend was going to get there. He knew they had agreed to meet at the office, but with a crime scene like this you would be sure to see Shawn appear after a few minutes. It was like he had a sixth sense for these kinds of things.

“I really can’t tell you, Mr. Guster,” Mitchell said, his voice clipped and formal now.

“Mitch,” Gus said, trying to reason with him. “I’m a police consultant. You can’t keep me out. Look, just get the Chief over here. I’m sure she’ll let me through.” He tried to get the Chief's attention by waving, but she was looking everywhere save for where he was standing.

Under normal circumstances he would have given up about now, but there was that nagging feeling at the back of his mind, telling him that he had to persist in this. There was something happening here, and he needed to find out what that was. Then he saw Lassiter again, and he realized that if Lassiter was there then Juliet couldn’t be far behind.

“Okay,” Gus said, going for the last desperate attempt. “Get Detective O’Hara out here. She knows me. She’s engaged to my partner. She was probably the one who called us over here in the first place.”

Mitchell and Jackson didn’t answer. Instead they looked at each other, and Jackson swallowed. Gus felt his heart begin to speed up, and his worry intensified. Mentally he went over everything that had happened since he had arrived at the scene, and then he realized that he had seen Lassiter several times, but not Juliet. In addition, the Chief was acting strangely, all the cops were looking serious, and he was denied access to the scene.

“Mitch,” Gus said slowly, the pieces beginning to connect in his mind. The picture he was getting did nothing to easy his worry. “Where is Detective O’Hara?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Mitchell said, looking at Jackson again. “I’m really sorry, Gus, but you have to leave now.”

“No,” Gus said and looked him straight in the face. “You need to let me in. If something is wrong with Juliet, I need to know what it is so I can tell Shawn.”

“And I’m telling you we can’t do that,” Jackson interfered. “Listen, Gus. Under normal circumstances I would have let you through in a heartbeat. But these are anything but normal circumstances. We…” He shook his head. “You should go find Shawn, okay?” He gave Gus a pointed look, and Gus felt himself getting short of breath. He was right. Something was wrong with Juliet. “I’m sure someone will contact you soon.”

Gus looked at the two police officers in front of him, then at the house behind them. It wasn’t very far, and he knew they probably wouldn’t shoot him if he just made a run for it.

In a last desperate attempt to get through he pointed to where he had last seen Lassiter, then, praying to everyone who might be listening, he said, “Hey, is that Detective Lassiter dancing the conga?” 

As soon as he had spoken the two officers looked away, and Gus only had a millisecond to think before he feinted to the left, then started to run. He could hear people shouting after him, but he ignored them. Something was very wrong, and he had to find out what it was.

Breathing heavily, he came to a sudden stop in front of the house, and he had to grab on to the wall of the house to keep from falling down. People were yelling at him, asking him what he was doing, telling him to leave. He couldn't hear them. Their noise was drowned out by the blood pounding in his ears, and he had to gasp for breath. Not from the run, but from the overwhelming effect of the shock that had all but sucker-punched him and driven all the air from his lungs. He had finally found the reason why no one would let him in.

Juliet was on lying the ground with her mouth open and her eyes closed. Her blonde hair framed her face, and her right hand limply held on to her gun.

She wasn't breathing, and she had two gaping holes in her chest. 

The ME stood above her, and medics surrounded her. Only now did he realize that the ambulance he had seen before had been there for her.

“Oh, God,” he croaked. “Oh, God, no.” He looked around furiously for someone who could explain this. Someone who could make sense of the fact that his friend was on the ground, not breathing.

“Mr. Guster.” Vick’s voice broke through his desperate attempts at making sense of what he was seeing, and he spun around to face her.

“Chief.”

“Mr. Guster, what are you doing here?”

Gus looked at her, wondering how she could remain so calm when it was Juliet, and she was on the ground, and she wasn’t breathing, and… He gasped for air. “Chief, what is… What’s…”

Vick’s face fell, and she looked at Juliet – still not breathing, still with the holes in her chest, and God, could the world stop spinning? – then at him. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Guster, but you have to leave now. You can’t be here. This is a crime scene.”

“But it’s Jules,” he stammered. “And Shawn…” Oh, God. Shawn. He looked intently at the Chief, his thoughts suddenly on Shawn. Did he know? Had anyone told him? When Gus had talked to him he had sounded so normal, like he didn’t know. Which meant that this probably wasn’t the case Shawn had wanted to work on, which meant that… “Does he know?” he repeated urgently.

Vick shook her head. “I need to let the ME finish this, and we need to get O’Hara out of here, and then I was going to go talk to Mr. Spencer.”

“No,” Gus said forcefully.

“What?”

“No,” he repeated. “Let me do it.”

“Mr. Guster, this is police procedure!”

Gus nodded, his eyes still trained on Juliet's lifeless form. He wanted to look away. Needed to look away. But all he could do was stare, as if he could will her back to life simply by looking at her. 

“I know. But you don’t understand. Shawn is my best friend. And he needs to hear this from me. There is nothing I would want more than for someone else to do it, but I can’t let that happen. It needs to come from me.”

He met Vick’s level look with one of his own, finally able to drag his eyes away. He was falling apart on the inside, but he needed to stay strong for this. Needed to stay strong for Shawn. He knew without a shadow of a doubt what this would do to his friend. And the only thing that would make it even remotely better – if anything could ever make something like this better – was if the news came from him.

“Fine,” Vick said, finally relenting. 

Gus breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re doing the right thing,” he told her, his mind already searching for the right words, Even if there were none. Because nothing he could say could ever soften this blow.

Vick nodded, obviously still not convinced that she was, but not about to fight him on it. “Why don’t you go wait by the car and I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’ll brief you on what happened and then you can go see Mr. Spencer.”

Gus nodded, his eyes once again on Juliet. He was suddenly reminded of the first time he had seen her. He and Shawn had only just started their little enterprise, and Juliet was the new girl, coming in to replace Lassiter’s old partner. When asking Shawn about her, Gus had foolishly remarked how he liked the old one better. Of course, years later, he realized he couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Turning away, he turned his head and let his gaze linger for a few more seconds.

"Goodbye, Jules," he whispered. “I’m glad we got you instead of the other one.”


	2. Chapter 2

The drive to the Psych office was the longest drive of Gus’s life. And after he had parked outside the office he spent five minutes in the car, staring emptily ahead. 

He was still trying to come to terms with the fact that Juliet was dead. The Chief had filled him in on the details, but they hadn’t really registered. He figured this was probably what shock felt like. The overwhelming numbness, as well as the desire to close his eyes, go to sleep, and then wake up to find that everything had just been a dream

But as much as his own pain was fighting its way through his chest, it was Shawn who was foremost on his mind. His best friend, who was closer than a brother, and who had given his heart to Juliet the first day he met her. Gus had always been a part of the whole fairytale that was the Shawn and Juliet story, and now he was going to be the one to pull the plug and tell Shawn that the fairytale was over. And this time there would be no happily ever after

Juliet had been his friend, too, of course. (And he was already thinking about her in the past tense? He sighed. Wished this day had never happened. Wanted to cry but didn’t.) He had loved her like a sister, and he had looked forward to her becoming an official member of their little family.

At last he got out of the car, and painstakingly he made his way towards the office. His feet felt as though they were held down by weights, and he had to force himself to keep moving. Who knew when Shawn would ever have a happy day again? The moment Gus walked through that door he would bring more sadness, and more despair into Shawn's life than anything ever had.

The light was on in the main room, and Gus could see Shawn through the window. He was standing in front of the whiteboard, his eyes closed, but his hand was moving. As far as Gus could see the scribbles made no sense at all, but this was Shawn, so who knew?

When he heard Gus walk through the door, Shawn spun around and fixed his friend with an annoyed glare. "Dude, where have you been?" he asked impatiently, capping his pen.

“I’m sorry,” Gus replied quietly. “I got sidetracked.”

“Sidetracked by what?" He shook his head and turned back to the whiteboard. "You know what? Never mind that. Come here and take a look at this.” He pointed to something that, to Gus, looked like a badly drawn map. Next to it was something that was obviously meant to be a car, except the car had a knife stuck in its side. Underneath, Shawn had written out random pieces of dialogue, and had he been in the mood to laugh, Gus was sure he would have found it funny.

Gus shook his head and walked over to the whiteboard. Taking the pen out of Shawn's hand he said, “Can you just step away from that for a second?”

Shawn looked at him in confusion. “What’s up?”

Gus took a deep breath. How did you even go about these things? How could he do this? For a split second he regretted convincing the Chief that he should be the one to bring Shawn the news. The Chief was trained to deliver bad news. All he had was twenty years of friendship. His regret passed quickly, however, because he knew this was how it had to be. The news had to come from him, and that was the end of that.

“The reason I’m late is because…” He took a deep breath, deciding to change tactics. “I drove past a crime scene on my way here," he explained. "I saw Lassiter’s car, and I assumed that's what you were talking about, so I stopped to see if you were there."

"I'm not," Shawn cut in, impatient. "I'm here." He bounced slightly on his toes. "Now look at this board." He tried to grab the pen out of Gus's hand, but Gus took a step back before Shawn had a chance to react. For a few seconds he was unable to lift his head and look his friend in the eyes. He was still battling with trying to find the right words, and he wet his lips nervously.

"Gus." Shawn's voice was quiet now, and Gus turned around, holding his breath. "What's going on? You're acting weird. Did you sit in something?" He grinned. "Is that why you smell?"

"I do not --" He cut himself off a clamped his mouth shut. Now was not the time to get caught up in one of Shawn's childish bicker matches. "Listen," he said instead. "The crime scene."

"Right."

"When I got there you weren't there."

"Because I'm here."

"Because you're here, yes." Gus nodded, the continued. "But I got out anyway, because I saw Lassiter's car, and I figured you'd be there soon enough. So I walked up the this house, but when I got there they wouldn’t let me through.”

Shawn frowned. “They wouldn’t let you through?” he asked in surprise. “Who was there?”

“Jackson. And Mitch.”

“Really? I thought Mitch liked us.”

Gus nodded. “So did I.”

“But what about Jules? You said you saw Lassie’s car. I mean, I understand that she might be reluctant to let you through when I wasn’t there.” He grinned at Gus, and Gus felt his whole heart stop. This wasn’t fair. Shawn was so happy. This simply wasn’t fair.

“Shawn, please stop talking,” Gus said a little desperately. “Just listen.”

“Dude, what’s wrong? You look all shriveled up.” Shawn grinned at his own joke, and he looked at Gus as if he was expecting a reply, or at least some acknowledgement of what he had just said. When that didn’t happen, his smile faded, and he looked at Gus inquiringly. “Dude, it might not be my best work, but at least it’s worth a pity laugh.” 

“Shawn, please,” Gus pleaded. He had to get this out. If he didn’t say it now he would end up running away, too afraid to say anything.

Shawn’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, but this time there was nothing humorous about it. Shawn may be slow on the uptake sometimes, but even he could sense that something was up. “What happened at the crime scene?”

Gus was about to reply, to just get it out, when Shawn’s eyes suddenly widened in understanding. “It’s Jules, isn’t it?” he said slowly, and Gus could tell that his mind was working now. He had been so focused on the case, but now that he was catching up, the whiteboard behind him was all but forgotten, and he was looking at Gus as if he held the answer to all the world's mysteries. “You said you saw Lassie, but you haven't mentioned Juliet yet. Something happened to her, didn't it? And that’s why they wouldn’t let you through.”

Gus just looked at him, hoping that he could telepathically say all the words his mouth couldn’t form. Shawn was staring at him, his mind racing, trying to connect all the missing pieces.

“She was going to see the gardener today,” he said, trying to talk himself through the mystery he was facing. “She called me about an hour ago and told me she would be late for dinner tonight, which means she must have gotten a breakthrough in the case. That must have been the scene you came to, which is great, even if it wasn’t the one I had planned for us to go to.” He looked up, his face furrowed in concentration. “But if you came there then they should have let you through. Unless there was a reason for them to keep you out.”

It was with a growing sense of impediment that Gus watched Shawn reason his way to the solution. He had always been a little in awe of Shawn’s mind, but he had also been very appreciative of it. Whenever there was bad news to deliver he knew he only needed to give Shawn the basics before his friend managed to connect the dots all by himself. His heart was in his throat, and he found it hard to breathe as Shawn's mind worked to solve the riddle. He wished he could just come out and say it, so that Shawn wouldn't have to do this. But the words refused to come, and Shawn was already half-way there. All he needed now was time.

“Now, why would they keep you out?” Shawn asked, though he didn't wait for an answer. “They wouldn’t, because they know you." He frowned. "But you're a civilian, so they could keep you out if there was a reason to keep a civilian out. And the only time they keep civilians out, especially civilians who have worked for them in the past, is if… Oh, my God.” Shawn put a hand across his mouth as all the pieces suddenly came together. He reached behind him to keep from crashing into anything, and when his legs met the edges of the couch he fell into it. “That’s what’s wrong, isn’t it?" He looked up, his eyes large. "It’s Jules.” It wasn’t a question, because he had figured it all out, and now all Gus had to do was confirm it.

“Shawn,” he whispered.

“Gus, is she… Gus, what happened?”

Gus carefully sat down next to Shawn on the sofa, and with his eyes trained on the floor and his heart in his throat, he told Shawn everything the Chief had told him.

“Juliet and Lassiter were going to check out a lead on the case they have been working on," he began.

Shawn nodded absently. “Yeah. I gave her that lead.”

"They got to the house, and Juliet was going in first. She opened the front door, and while she took all the necessary precautions, the guy, John Hansen, had a gun. And he must have been spooked or something, because the moment the door opened he opened fire." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "They didn’t have a chance to react, and according to the Chief, Juliet,” Gus swallowed, “Juliet was dead before she hit the ground.”

There was a deafening silence that threatened to swallow Gus whole, and his vision clouded as he waited for Shawn to say something.

“Take me to her."

Gus blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Gus, I need you to take me to her,” Shawn repeated, his voice quavering. “Where is she now?”

Gus shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “When I left the house they were just about to load her into the ambulance. I could make a few calls if you’d --”

“Do it,” Shawn interrupted. He stood up, and as Gus called the Chief, he started pacing back and forth, all the while breathing as if every breath was his last.

He didn’t understand what had happened. The moment Gus had delivered the news his emotions had shut down, and instead of feelings there was just a big numbness. His brain had stopped functioning too, and the only thought in his head was that he needed to see her. He had to see, because then he could talk to her. And if he could talk to her, then he would see for himself that this was just a big joke. There was no way Juliet could be gone. There was just no way…

“They have taken her to the morgue,” Gus said as soon as he hung up.

The words hung in the air for a few seconds, and Shawn could almost see them spelled out before him. Morgue. It reverberated through his brain, like an echo he couldn’t seem to get rid of, and it made the hair on his arms stand on end. Morgue.

With obvious effort he swallowed, then he nodded. “Let’s go.”

\----

Gus found that going into the morgue was a lot easier than he had anticipated. He had never been very good with death, but this time it was as if all those things that used to make him feel sick had been taken away. He had heard stories of victims of crimes that had no problems facing their attackers, while the people around them wanted to run away screaming. He wondered briefly if this was the same thing. All those other time he had been going in to see strangers for a case. Juliet had been one of his best friends. And for the first time in his life, the thought of death did not scare him senseless.

Or, he reasoned, looking at his best friend’s pale face, he was being strong for Shawn. Shawn, who hadn’t said a word since leaving the Psych office. 

He had entered the morgue with decisive steps, as if he was signaling that he didn’t care what stood in his way; he was seeing Juliet, and that was the end of that.

They had met a few police officers in the hallway, but no one had said anything as they walked quietly towards the room they were in now. They must have recognized them, or simply seen the look on Shawn’s face and realized there was nothing they could do to stop him.

Outside the door they had met Lassiter. He had been sitting in a chair, staring emptily ahead. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, and his shoulders hunched. His black suit, always so immaculate, was rumpled, and there was an emptiness behind his eyes that had not been there before. When he had seen them he had nodded slightly, and Gus had nodded back, but Shawn had simply ignored him. Instead he had pushed open the door, making it slam against the wall behind it. Then, before Gus had a chance to react, he had been through. 

Gus didn’t know what to do after that. Should he go in there and support him, or should he let his friend have his moment alone? In the end he settled for waiting, and he sat down in a chair next to Lassiter, assured by the knowledge that if Shawn needed him he would know. For now Shawn needed to be alone. Gus had already said his goodbye. Now it was Shawn's turn.

\----

Juliet was lying on a metal table, covered up to her neck with a white sheet, and her blonde hair was loose around her face. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth slightly open. She still had a tinge of red in her cheeks, and if Shawn focused, he thought he could hear her breathing.

How many times had he watched her sleep? This was no different from any of those times. The only difference was that she was still wearing her make-up, and Juliet never went to bed wearing her make-up. She had explained why many times, but for some reason he had never listened. And now, he realized with a pang, he would never know.

“Hey, Jules,” he croaked, his voice sounding distant, like it was coming from somewhere far away, and not from inside his own head.

When she didn’t answer he tried again. “Jules,” he muttered. “You’re wearing your make-up.”

Still there was no answer, only the sound of his own shallow breathing, and the blood rushing through his head.

“Jules, come on,” he tried again. “You can’t fall asleep like this; you know that’s not a good idea.” He put a shaky hand on the side of her face, but he retrieved it quickly when he felt her cold skin underneath his palm. He stared at her, and unbidden tears welled up in his eyes.

“Jules,” he whispered. “Don’t do this to me. You know I can’t do anything without you. You still haven’t taught me how to set the timer on my TiVo. How else am I supposed to catch the latest episode of Hell’s Kitchen?” He sniffled silently and wiped angrily at the tears that were staining his cheeks. “Seriously,” he continued. “You need to wake up and come home with me. We have a major case to solve, and I need to talk to you about it. I think I have a lead, but I’m not sure and I would like if you took a look at it. There’s a guy with a car, and I believe he was stabbed. I even made a drawing, but it’s not very good. I could fix it for you, though. I think I know how.”

He kept talking like that - nonsensical nothings. Pleading, begging, cajoling - until his throat was dry and there were no more words to say. Then he just stood there, looking at her, memorizing her face, the lines of her nose, her eyes. The way the shadow fell from her eyelashes onto her cheeks, and the way her hair curled around her forehead. When he finally stopped he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes, feeling the warmth seep into him. That’s when he realized he was shuddering, and he put his arms around himself to get warm. But it didn’t seem to help. If anything, it only made the shaking worse.

“Come on, Shawn.” It was Gus’s voice, which meant that it was probably Gus’s hand on his shoulder. Gus’s other hand was on his arm, and it was pulling him. It was pulling him away from Juliet, and Shawn felt a small surge of panic well up inside him.

“No,” he protested. “No. I have to stay here.”

“No, Shawn. We need to go. I called your Dad and he is on his way down here. He is taken you home with him.”

Shawn shook his head. “I can take care of myself.” The protest was feeble, and it fell of deaf ears.

Gus sighed. “Shawn, please. Just… just come with me. It’s time.”

Desperately, Shawn cast one last look at Juliet's body. Then he tore himself free from Gus’s grip, and he bent down and placed one last kiss on Juliet’s lips. “Bye, Jules,” he whispered, so quietly that he wasn't sure if the sound of his words was all in his head, or if he was actually speaking them. “I love you.”

Then he finally allowed himself to be led away from the morgue, and back up into the Santa Barbara sunlight. But despite the warm rays that was shining down on him, he felt cold, and he knew that while his body was leaving, his heart would forever be with Juliet in that cold and dark room.

Juliet was dead. But so, Shawn thought with a shudder, was he.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had forgotten exactly how angsty this story is. If it helps, after this chapter the angst (sort of) ends. A little, at least.

“I spent five years chasing her, but in the end it was she who chose me.”

The day of Juliet’s funeral was warm and sunny, as if the world wanted to show itself from its best side in an unspoken tribute to the woman who was no longer in it. Shawn was standing before Juliet’s closed casket, his black suit immaculate and his hair cropped short. The light that used to be in his eyes was gone, and his voice was quiet and subdued. His shoulders were hunched, and he clung to the note in his hands as if it was all that kept him on his feet.

"When I first met her..." He exhaled sharply, as if he was fighting for every word. His face was impassive, and his eyes were fastened somewhere beyond the crowd, a faraway look in his eyes. "When I first met her she was just some girl in a diner. She had stolen my seat and I probably could have made her move, but," he swallowed, "but I was bored and in need of some fun."

He smiled wryly as memories of that first meeting flashed through his mind. He could see it as if it were yesterday, and the realization of what that first meeting had meant made him strong, because even if he hadn't known then, that chance encounter would be the basis for everything that happened after.

"One time I asked her, uh..." he rubbed a hand over his face, then looked up again, "I asked her what she thought about me, back then. As it turns out..." he chuckled, humorously this time, "she didn't really remember me at all." A tiny ripple of laughter spread out through the crowd, and he could see a few smiles here and there."Thing was, though, even if she couldn't remember me, I remembered her. And she didn't really believe me when I said it..." He shrugged. "But the truth is, from that moment on she had my interest."

Lifting his head from the piece of paper in his hands, Shawn looked out at the crowd before him. When he had first walked up there he had had every inclination to just keep walking, away from the platform, away from everyone. He couldn't bear to face the pity in their eyes, or the way they looked at him as if they understood. They could never understand, and he wasn't sure if he wanted them to.

But the more he spoke, the calmer he felt. Talking about Juliet was painful, more painful than anything he had ever had to deal with in his life, but it was also strangely soothing. It was as if all the memories helped him, and they made it easier to stand up there. These people had known her, too, though only some of them had known her as well as he had. He wanted to show them a girl who wasn't just a detective. Someone who was more than the official-looking suits and the gun strapped to her body. And the only way he could do that was if he kept talking, because if he didn't tell them, no one else would.

He looked at the note again. He didn't even know why he brought it with him. All the things he needed were right there in his mind. But after Juliet's death he found it harder to remember. His memory seemed clouded sometimes, and he had to work to bring up memories that used to be there in a flash.

“It took us five years and a lot of ups and downs, but one day she finally agreed to go out with me." He smiled. "It was the best day of my life. By then I had pretty much given up on us, but just like always she surprised me. And, pathetic as it sounds; after that first date I knew I would never want to date anyone else ever again.”

He could still see the light in her eyes as he kissed her goodnight in front of her apartment. He could remember the thrill he had felt when her lips met his for the first time. He only had to close his eyes and he could smell her hair and feel the softness of her skin underneath his hands. He remembered her small smile as he let her go, the blush in her cheeks as she asked him if he wanted to come upstairs. He could remember it all, and while the memories sustained him, helped him stand up, the knowledge that he would never have that again also tore him apart and formed a silent scream in his head. He had been screaming for five days, and at this point he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to silence it. He wanted to remember, because it helped. But he also wanted to forget, because some days he wasn't sure he could live with all the memories.

“Anyway."

He only had a few more things to get through now. A few more bullet points, and then he could go sit down. Once he did, he thought tiredly, he never wanted to get up again.

"One thing led to another, and two years later she agreed to marry me. Three months from now she was going to make me the happiest man alive. Instead…” He looked at the casket, and his next words came out in a pained whisper. “Instead we’re here.”

He still couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t grasp the fact that this wasn’t a sick joke someone was playing on him, and that at any moment she would walk out from behind a bush, or knock on his door and ask him what he was so sad about. She would laugh and roll her eyes, and then she would berate him for ever believing that she would leave. I told you I would never leave, Shawn, and I still mean that. What do I have to do to prove it to you?

“Instead we’re here.” He wet his lips, his hands turning cold, and the glare of the sun seemed to mock him. “I spent five years chasing her, but it in the end it was nothing I did that made her change her mind. She chose me." He closed his eyes. "And I know I'll never stop loving her.”

After that everything was a haze of people coming and going. Everywhere he looked there were sad people dressed in black, and police officers dressed in their uniforms. Juliet’s family stood by his side the whole time, as did his dad and Gus. 

But Shawn didn't see any of them.

All he could see was the face of the woman he had just said goodbye to, and when they lowered her casket into the ground he had to physically restrain himself from jumping in after it.

“Shawn,” Gus whispered, once the crowd had dispersed.

Shawn looked up to find that everyone was gone, and that the only people left were himself, Gus, and his parents. His parents were talking in hushed tones a few feet away, and from the way they both kept glancing at him, he knew they must be talking about him.

“Shawn, we have to go,” Gus said softly. He placed a hand on his arm and Shawn looked at him.

“I don’t…” He shook his head. “I just need a few more…” He trailed off, then changed his mind. “You know what? Let’s just go.” He took off at a high speed, and didn’t stop until he had gotten to where his parents were standing.

“Hey, Goose,” Madeline said with a small smile. She was holding on to her handbag, and her dark pant suit stood in stark contrast to her blonde hair. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “I’m okay.”

Madeline nodded, able to see through his words, but she didn't comment on it. “You know it’s going to be like this for a while, honey. I am so sorry I can’t stay longer, but I have work to do in Washington.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It’s okay, Ma, I’ll be fine. I have Gus.” He looked at his father. “And Dad.”

“Yes, you do,” Madeline said and shared a look with her ex-husband. “And you know you can call me whenever you want to, right?”

She gave him another sad smile and patted him on the head. Shawn leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I know. Thanks.”

Madeline looked at him for a few more seconds, then nodded, as if to assure herself that it was okay to leave. Shawn watched her go with a sigh, then he turned to Gus and his Dad.

“Let’s go, Kid,” Henry said, the first thing he had said to Shawn since before the service started.

Shawn cast one last look over his shoulder towards Juliet’s open grave, then he closed his eyes briefly, burning it into his memory forever. This was the last time he would see her, and while it hurt so much he wasn’t sure how he was still on his feet, he wanted to remember this moment. When he opened his eyes again he turned around, and he followed his dad into the truck, none of them saying anything.

“Are you hungry?”

Shawn looked up when his father broke the silence. He had been lost in thought, too preoccupied with his own memories to even notice the world that flashed past outside. And when Henry spoke, it took him a few seconds to remember where he was and what was going on.

“No,” Shawn said quietly and shook his head.

“Did you have any breakfast?”

Shawn looked at his father and shook his head one more time. “No.”

Henry nodded and tugged at his tie. “I’ll make a stop over by Joe’s Diner. We can get you something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry, Dad,” Shawn argued, but his father wasn’t listening. Instead he pulled up against an old run-down diner a few blocks away from the house, and before Shawn had a chance to protest he was on his way out of the car.

“Stay here,” Henry ordered and stepped out. “I’ll be right back.”

When he returned he was carrying a BLT sandwich and a bottle of coke. He gave it to Shawn with a look that brokered no arguments, and Shawn accepted it, even though the very idea of food made his stomach turn. The smell of the bacon alone made him feel queasy, and he stared at the sandwich in horror.

“Eat,” Henry said as he turned the car back on. “Starving yourself won't help.”

They pulled back out onto the road, and Shawn took a tentative sip of his coke. It felt tasteless and too fizzy, and he stopped drinking after a few seconds. “I’m really not hungry,” he said, looking at his dad.

Henry huffed. “What are you going to do then? Never eat again?”

Shawn shrugged. “I guess.”

“Don’t be stupid, Kid,” Henry protested. “You can’t go through life without eating.”

“Want to bet?”

Henry glanced at his son, while at the same time keeping an eye on the road. “All right, then starve yourself.”

Shawn sighed and took a bite of the sandwich. As he chewed he kept replaying everything that had happened that day over and over in his mind. From the way Juliet’s mother had looked at him as if he were the one responsible for this, to her brothers' silent greeting, to his own family and their fumbling words. The only one who had been the same was his dad, who had just stood there through everything, not saying anything. And yet his silence, and the pat on the back before his eulogy, gave him more support than any of the empty words and condolences of the other people at the service.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?” Henry grunted.

“Thanks for… you know.” He held out the half-eaten sandwich. “The food.”

Henry nodded, but he didn't say anything.

Shawn looked out the window again, and a comfortable silence settled between them. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool surface of the window.

“Dad?” he said again, his eyes still closed. “I’m going to sleep at home tonight.”

Ever since Juliet had died he had been with his dad at his house. Henry had come to pick him up as soon as he and Gus came out of the morgue, and without saying anything he had steered Shawn into the truck and back to his own house.

He didn’t want to admit it, but it had been a relief to be there. For one he didn’t have to think about anything, as Henry had simply taken charge. He wasn’t ready to deal with any of that stuff, and so he had let his dad run the show for a bit. But now he suddenly felt an unexplainable need to be back in his own apartment, back in his own bed. He wanted to be close to Juliet, and the only way he could do that was by being around her things. And ever since they had moved in together six months ago, Juliet’s things had been in his apartment.

“What are you talking about?” Henry asked.

Shawn looked at him. “I want to sleep at home tonight. It’s…” He rubbed his neck uncomfortably. “Just take me home.” He paused. “Please.”

“Fine,” Henry sighed. “Now finish your sandwich.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this really is the last of the super depressing chapters. It gets (slightly) better from here on out!

On the first day, Shawn woke up alone.

He was just about to call out Juliet’s name when he remembered that it was futile, and the word died on his lips. Through bleary eyes he noticed the time on his alarm, the red digits showed 9:54am. On any normal Saturday he would have gone to find Juliet, they would have argued about whose turn it was to make breakfast, then they would have decided to forego the argument and just go out instead. Or they would have gone to see Gus, tricking him into exchanging fresh waffles for some maple syrup from Juliet’s latest trip to Canada. Or maybe he would have lured her back to bed, they would have stayed in all day and watched TV and eaten junk food, before going to Henry’s for dinner in the evening.

Now, however, Shawn only got out of bed to close the curtains, making sure no light got through, then he got back into bed. He turned onto his side, pulled his blanket over his head, then he went back to sleep.

He woke up two hours later, his body aching from having been in bed too long. His phone was blinking, most likely an incoming call. Without thinking he turned it face down, not even bothering to check who it was. Whoever it was, he didn’t want to talk to them. Whoever it was would have nothing to say that would make getting up worth it. Ignoring the pain in his back he lay down on his stomach and closed his eyes again. A few minutes later he was asleep.

The second day his body woke him up from a restless sleep, demanding to be fed. He stared up at the roof for fifteen minutes, before he pulled a blanket around his shoulders and padded into the kitchen. Once there he fished out a container of leftovers, and he was just about to put it in the microwave when he was hit with a memory of Juliet putting the same leftovers in the fridge in the first place. He ended up throwing everything in the trash, before he rushed to the bathroom, his already empty stomach ridding itself of whatever was left for it to get rid of. Not knowing what else to do, he threw some water on his face, picked up his blanket again, then went back to the living room. He curled up on the sofa, turned on the TV, then fell asleep to the fake laughter of some sitcom episode he had seen a hundred times before. The hunger was long gone.

The third day he was woken up by a loud knock on his door.

“Shawn, it’s Gus. Shawn, are you in there?”

Gus’s voice was muffled through the thick wood, but he could hear the concern and worry anyway. He considered opening the door, but after a few minutes the knocking stopped, and Shawn turned back onto his side. If he slept he wouldn’t have to deal with this. And in his dreams, Juliet was waiting.

The fourth day was a Tuesday.

“Get out of bed, Kid.”

Shawn opened his eyes to find his dad standing over him, his arms across his chest, his stance saying this was not open for discussion.

“How did you get in here?” Shawn asked, his voice raspy from not having been used for four days.

“You gave me a key. Now get up.”

Shawn blinked a few times, and when Henry pulled open the curtains he threw a hand over his eyes.

“Dad!” he growled, “give me some warning before you do that?”

“No,” Henry said decisively. “Now get up. This place is a pig sty, Gus told me you haven’t been to work all week, and from the looks of your refrigerator you haven’t eaten since Friday.”

Realizing that there was no point in arguing, Shawn pushed down the covers, and shivered as the cold air hit him. He followed his dad into the kitchen, pausing halfway to support himself on the wall, because suddenly the whole room started spinning, and it wouldn’t exactly help his case if he fainted before he could get out of the bedroom.

Once in the kitchen he found his dad opening containers of food, piling it onto a plate, and he shoved it into the microwave, before he wordlessly pointed to a chair, signaling for Shawn to sit down.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Shawn asked, though he did as he was told.

“Gus called me last night,” Henry explained, putting the food that was left over into the empty fridge. “He was worried about you.”

Shawn watched his dad walk around the kitchen, piling dishes into the sink, straightening the potted plants in the window sill, then, when the microwave beeped he took the plate out and placed it in front of Shawn. “Now eat.”

As soon as the smells from the plate hit his nose his stomach rumbled, and he took a tentative bite. The mashed potatoes slid down without protest, and when he took a second bite he saw his dad nod in satisfaction out of the corner of his eye.

“So what did you do with all the food?” Henry asked once Shawn was done eating.

Shawn shrugged. “I threw it out.”

Henry arched his eyebrows in a silent question, and Shawn waited for the lecture to come, but instead Henry remained quiet, and the unspoken question hung in the air between them.

“On Sunday,” Shawn continued, not knowing how to explain that after the leftover incident of that day he had gone on a rampage of his kitchen, throwing out everything Juliet had made, bought or stored. Everywhere he looked there were memories of her. Wherever he turned he could see her touch. He had planned to throw out the plants as well, but by then he was so exhausted from grief and hunger that he had decided to leave it and deal with it later.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “It was getting old, and…” He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

Henry looked at him for a long time, then, for some reason satisfied with that answer, he nodded. Then he picked up his car keys from the table and put his baseball cap back on.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, and by then that fridge needs to be empty. And not because you threw it out.”

Shawn nodded dumbly, and then Henry left.

Once his dad was gone, Shawn put the empty plate into the sink, then he walked into the kitchen.

"I think I'm going crazy, Jules." Shawn closed his eyes and sat down in his chair.

"Really?" Juliet asked.

"Really."

"And why is that?"

Shawn frowned and leaned his head back on the headrest. His eyes still closed, he answered, "Because I see you everywhere."

Juliet smiled at him. His eyes were closed, but he could feel the smile anyway. She always had the most radiant smile. "That doesn't mean you're crazy," she said matter-of-factly. "That just means you miss me."

"I do miss you," he sighed. "I miss you a lot."

"I miss you too."

"I miss how things were," he continued. "Before."

She nodded. "I know."

"No one yells at me anymore," he told her. “My dad was just here. And he didn’t yell. Not once.”

She laughed. It echoed through his brain and made his heart ache. "If anything, that should make you happy," she said.

"You would think so. But I'm not. I miss people yelling at me.”

"They just care about you, Shawn. They’re worried about you."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "But I want things to go back to normal," he said. "I just wish things were back to normal."

Juliet sat down beside him and put a hand on his arm. "I know you do."

"But that's not going to happen, is it?" he asked quietly.

"It's not."

He put his own hand on top of hers and laced their fingers together. She was warm underneath his hand, and he rubbed his thumb along the ridge of her thumb. "This isn't fair," he muttered. "I don't understand it."

"I know."

"Why did you have to go into that building, Jules?" He sounded choked now, and he could feel the tears pressing on. Angrily, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. He didn't want to cry. He was done crying. Crying had gotten him nowhere, and yet the tears persisted in coming. He squeezed his eyes even tighter shut, and he held on to Juliet's hand as hard as he could. "Why did you go into the building?" he repeated.

Next to him, Juliet sighed. "You know why. It's my job. I've gone into a thousand buildings. No one knew that this was going to happen."

"I should have been there," he whispered. "I sent you there. I should have been there."

"No, Shawn," Juliet said angrily. "You didn't send me anywhere. You gave me a lead. I chose to follow up on it." She shook her head. "You were not responsible for this."

He shook his head in denial. "No, you're wrong. You're wrong. I should have seen something. I should have been there. I should have..." His words were cut short by a sob. "I should have been there," he repeated, his words coming out in short puffs.

"And what?" Juliet asked. "We both would have died? How would that have helped?"

"But I miss you so much. I'm going crazy without you. I don't know what to do anymore, Jules."

"Shawn," Juliet said tenderly. "You do what you've always done. You live your life."

"But how?"

"Like you always did; one day at the time. Or if you can't do that, then one hour at the time. Or if that is too much, then one minute at the time. It's always about making it through the next minute. And then the next. And once you're past that, you'll make it through another minute. And before you know it you'll have made it through a whole hour. And then it won't be too long before you've made it through a day. And once a day is gone..."

"A month," he concluded. He wet his lips and wiped the tears on his cheek. "You sound like my mom."

"That's because she's the one who told you this the first time."

"I remember. But Jules?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want to make it through a month, because that means I'll have lived a whole month without you. Every minute that passes is a minute I live without you. And I don't want that."

Juliet put her head on his shoulder, and he took in the smell of her. She smelled like warmth, and home, and Jules. It was so painful he was sure his heart would fall out of his chest, but he kept on smelling. Who knew when he would get another chance?

"But you don't have to," Juliet said eventually. She lifted her head and looked at him. "You'll always remember me, Shawn. Just because you don't see me..."

"But this isn't the same," he muttered. "You're in my head. This is all make-belief."

"It is. But that doesn't make it any less real, does it?"

He shook his head. "I guess. I just wish I could hold you one last time."

"I know."

"Jules?"

"Yes?"

He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Can we just sit like this for a while?"

Juliet smiled. "Of course. I'm not going anywhere." She put her head on his shoulder again, and he buried his face in her hair. "But Shawn, you're going to have to go back out there again soon. You can't sit inside your apartment in the dark for the rest of your life. You know that, right?"

Shawn swallowed heavily, the thought of Outside still too much to handle. But he knew she was right, and so he nodded. "I do." He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, then he kissed her temple. "Let's not talk about that right now," he muttered into her hair. "Let's just sit like this for a while."

"Okay," Juliet said softly. “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

It took a week for Gus to come back after his first failed attempt. This time Shawn opened the door gingerly, and Gus came inside, looking around almost tentatively.

“It’s not going to blow up, you know,” Shawn said dryly.

Gus hung his suit jacket just inside the door, then he watched Shawn anxiously. “How are you?” he asked, not answering Shawn's quip.

Shawn shrugged. “I'm great, thanks. Never been better, actually.”

Gus sighed. “Shawn.”

“What?”

He gave him a pointed look that said he wasn’t buying it, and Shawn sighed in resignation.

“I’m okay,” he amended. He put his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatpants and looked at the floor. “Some days it’s better, some days it’s worse. But I’m okay. Mostly.”

Gus nodded. “Okay.” He looked at him, and Shawn expected him to say something more, but instead he just said, “So are you going to let me in?” He held out a plastic bag that he had been clutching ever since he got there, and Shawn took it, before he led the way into the kitchen. “Your dad gave me this,” Gus explained. “He said you knew what to do with it.”

Shawn scoffed and emptied the contents of the bag and placed it in the refrigerator. Then he put the already empty plastic boxes back into the bag and put it on the kitchen table, before he took a plate out of the cupboard and put some food on it. “Do you want anything?” he asked once his own plate was in the microwave.

Gus shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Another silence stretched between them. For the first time in their friendship neither knew what to say, and eventually Shawn couldn’t take it anymore.

“How’s Jessie?” he asked, taking the food out of the microwave and sitting down to eat.

For the first time since he had walked through the door, Gus’s shoulders relaxed, and a big smile spread out across his face. “She’s good,” he said, and Shawn could hear the happiness in his voice. “She just finished moving her things in yesterday, so now we officially live together. It's strange, living..."

Shawn zoned out about halfway through Gus’s speech. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy for his friend, because he was. But there was something about his cheerfulness that made Shawn suddenly and irrationally angry, and while he had asked, he soon regretted it. The awkward silence had been better than this.

Gus, soon to realize that something was wrong, stopped talking and gave Shawn a level look.

“Shawn?” he asked cautiously, the happiness out of his voice.

Shawn stopped eating and looked at him across the table. “What?”

Gus looked at him for a long time, and Shawn hated himself for making him worry like this. But at the same time he couldn’t stop the feelings of resentment that were coursing through his body. Shawn and Gus had met the women of their dreams roughly at the same time. But while Shawn’s perfect woman lay rotting in a dark casket six feet under the ground, Gus could go home to his girlfriend, and he could have a happy life with her. He could kiss her, hug her, talk to her. Gus could do all the things that Shawn had taken for granted for so long, while all Shawn could do was curl up on the couch and talk to an imaginary voice in his head.

“I’m worried about you,” Gus said in an unusual moment of openness.

Shawn didn’t answer. He just met Gus’s look with a look of his own, and it was Gus who first let his gaze drop. After another prolonged silence Shawn said, “I’m fine.”

Gus snorted. “Come on, Shawn.”

“What?” Shawn snapped.

Gus shook his head. “Look at you.” He gestured towards him. “You haven’t been out of the apartment in days. You only eat because your dad keeps bringing you food, and if I’m not entirely mistaken you’ve been wearing those clothes a lot longer than anyone should be wearing anything." He made a face. "Lord knows when you last shaved.”

Shawn scratched his chin self-consciously, but he didn’t say anything, so Gus kept talking.

“Anyone can tell you’re not fine, Shawn, and no one expects you to be. I can’t imagine what you must be going through, and I’m not saying everything should be fine tomorrow. No one expects it to. But this?” He stopped to catch his breath. “This isn’t healthy, dude. Not for you. Not for anyone. It’s just not good.”

“What do you want me to do then?” Shawn asked angrily, all the frustration and sadness he had been carrying around for the last week bubbling to the surface. He didn’t want to take it out on Gus, but Gus was there, and he was an easy target. 

He narrowed his eyes and his voice was harsh when he said, “Because you’re right, you don’t know. No one knows. And there is nothing you or anyone can do to help. My dad feeds me because it’s the only way he knows how. But you? What are you doing? You just come here and expect everything to be okay. You talk about Jessica as if it didn’t kill me to hear about your perfect life and your perfect relationship. You sit there and you tell me it can’t be healthy to live like this. Let me tell you one thing.” He stretched his right hand out across the table, his index finger almost jabbing Gus in the shoulder. “Losing Juliet wasn’t exactly healthy either. It was the damn worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and you have no idea what it’s like. So don’t you dare come here and lecture me on what is or isn’t good for me. Just don’t. I’ll wear what I want, I'll eat what I want, and if I never want to go out again then I hate to break it to you, but there is nothing you, or anyone else, can do to stop me!” His chair fell to the ground with a loud clang as he sprang to his feet. Adrenaline was rushing through him, and it made it impossible to sit still.

Opposite him Gus was staring dumbfounded, his eyes wide, and he was opening and closing his mouth, searching for something to say. “Well then." He got to his feet. “I guess I’ll just go.” And without another word he backed out of the kitchen and out of Shawn’s apartment.

After he had gone, Shawn rested a fist on the table and closed his eyes, bowing his head at the neck. He bit his lip and scrunched up his face in pain and frustration, and he stayed like that until he felt a small hand on his back.

“What’s going on?” Juliet’s voice was small and timid, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“I don’t know, Jules,” Shawn said quietly, the sound of his voice too loud for his empty apartment. “But I think I just messed up big time with Gus.”

Juliet sighed, and he followed after her into the living room. “Shawn,” she said tenderly, her voice bringing comfort to the pain in his heart. “It’s Gus. He’ll be back.”

“You really think so?”

“Give him a day. He’ll be back.”  
\---  
Gus was very quiet when he came home that night. The conversation he had had with Shawn playing over and over in his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder where he had gone wrong. Should he not have mentioned Jessica? Should he have been less pushy? More open and accepting?

He shook his head. He knew he had done the right thing. Seeing Shawn like this was killing him, and what was even worse was that for the first time in their friendship he had no idea what to do to make it better. For as long as he could remember he had known what to do when Shawn was out of it. But after Juliet died he had been as helpless as everybody else. Perhaps even more so, because it was such unchartered territory for him.

Jessica was waiting for him when he came through the door, and she gave him a sympathetic smile.

"How did it go?" she asked and came over to him.

Gus sighed and pulled her in for a hug. He let the frustration and sadness of everything out as he felt the warmth of her seep into him, and he kissed the top of her head.

"I don't know what to do, Jess," he said tiredly. "I've always known what to do, but right now I have no idea. It kills me to see him like this. It's like he doesn't even want to move on. It's like he just wants to sit in his apartment for the rest of his life and be miserable. And I try to help him, but he just yells at me. And I get that he's sad, and I get that he misses her, but he can't do this to himself!" He let her go and started to pace. Underlining every word with his hands, he continued. "He needs to be out there, out where the people are. And I miss her, too. She was one of my best friends, and it's like he doesn't even get that. And I just want to shake him. I want to tell him to snap out of it, but that's not going to help, is it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It's not. But this... what he's doing to himself, that's definitely not helping. And it kills me, because I have no idea what to do!"

"Gus," Jessica said softly and put a hand on his arm. He stopped pacing and looked at her.

"What?" he snapped, the winced when he heard himself. "Sorry. What?" he repeated, softer this time.

"You have to stop beating yourself up about this."

"But I'm his best friend, Jess. I'm supposed to be able to help!"

Jessica sighed. "Gus, listen to me. Shawn is a grown man, and he'll figure this out. This is unchartered territory for both of you, and no matter what happens he knows you'll be there for him. Just make sure he doesn't doubt that, and when he's ready he will come to you."

"I'm not so sure." Gus shook his head. "I've never seen him like this before. The only time he has ever come close was when his mom left, and even then he actually talked to me. Now he is just locking himself up in his apartment, refusing to come out. I just wish I knew what to do!"

Jessica nodded. "Listen, I wasn't sure if I was going to give you these, but I think it might be a good idea." She went to get her bag, and she pulled out some pamphlets. She gave them to Gus. "I picked these up when I was at the doctor's today."

Gus looked at them and arched his eyebrows. "Bereavement support group?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "My friend Anna from work recommended it. She went to one when her daughter died, and she said it helped her a lot."

"I don't know, Jess." He looked at the pamphlets, giving them a quick read-through. "This doesn't sound like something Shawn would like."

Jessica looked at him. "That's not the point. To me it sounds like Shawn has problems dealing with his grief, and these groups," she nodded to the pamphlets in Gus's hand, "are there to help people with this. It's not going to fix everything, and there's no miracle cure. But if it helps, even just a little, then won't it be worth it?"

Gus sighed. She had a point. But that meant that he had to breach the subject with Shawn, and right now there was nothing he wanted to do less. He looked at the pamphlets again and sighed in resignation. She was right. Something needed to be done, and since Shawn was seemingly unable to do it himself, it was Gus who needed to pick up the pieces.

"All right," he said and nodded resolutely. "I'll talk to Shawn about it this week."

Jessica smiled. "You're doing the right thing, Gus. One day he will thank you for this."

Gus sighed. "I don't know. I hope you're right."

"I am."  
\---  
Juliet had been wrong. Or rather, Shawn’s imaginary version of Juliet had been wrong. Because it took three whole days for Gus to return to Shawn’s apartment, and when Shawn opened the door it was to find a very serious Gus on the other side.

He hadn’t done much since Gus had left. Life had been pretty much like every other day since Juliet’s funeral, except once again it got a little harder to get out of bed, until it got the point where he only got up to let his dad in for his daily food visits.

“Listen,” Gus said before Shawn had a chance to speak. He held out a pamphlet, and Shawn looked at it warily. The words ‘Bereavement Support Group’ were written in large letters across the top, making Shawn’s whole body scream in defiance. He didn’t need a support group! The last thing he needed was to talk to complete strangers about his loss. If Gus thought he would ever get him to this thing then he was absolutely out of his mind.

“No,” Shawn said quickly, before Gus had a chance to get a word out.

“What?” Gus said. “But I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“You don’t have to,” Shawn replied. “Your pamphlets say it all. I’m not going to a support group. You can just throw those in the trash on the way out.”

Gus shook his head. “No, Shawn,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to do that. And you know why?”

“Because you’re a pain in the ass who doesn’t know when to stop butting in?”

“Wrong. It’s because I’m worried about you. The last time I was here you said some things, and while I probably didn’t react in the best way, I have decided to let that go, and instead focus on your real problem.”

“I don’t have a problem,” Shawn retorted, but Gus ignored him.

“It’s obvious that you’re not able to handle this grieving process on your own,” Gus said. “And that’s okay. That doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, or even a weak person. It just means you need some help.” Shawn was about to speak, but Gus held up a hand, cutting him off. “Just listen to me. I’m worried about you. We all are. And while we understand that you need time, you also need to get out more. You need to see people. You need to begin to live your life again. And these people,” he waved the pamphlet, “can help you do just that. The first meeting is on Thursday at seven. I’ll be here at six thirty to pick you up. Take a shower, put on clean clothes, make yourself presentable. You are getting out of this apartment if it’s the last thing I do.”

At the end of Gus’s speech Shawn could do nothing but gape. He had been convinced that Gus was too pissed at him to even talk to him. Instead he came here with this? A support group? And who were these ‘we’ that he kept talking about? He asked, and Gus shrugged.

“Me. Your dad.”

“You talked to my dad? And more importantly, he told you he was worried about me?”

Gus gave Shawn a look. “Of course he didn’t. But he is. He keeps bringing you food, doesn’t he? Why else do you think he does it, if not because he’s worried about you?”

Shawn shrugged. “I guess. Who else?” he asked.

“What?”

“Who else is ‘we’?”

“Oh. The Chief. Lassiter.”

“Lassiter?” Shawn spat the name out, for the first time feeling something that wasn't sadness or frustration. A white-hot anger shot through him, and he narrowed his eyes. "Lassiter is worried about me?"

“Of course he is!” Gus exclaimed. “What do you think? He’s our friend!”

Shawn growled. “No, he isn’t. Besides, he practically got Juliet killed! He shouldn’t worry about me. He should worry about what’s going to happen once I get my hands on him.”

Gus stared at Shawn in disbelief. “Did you just threaten Detective Lassiter? Shawn, he didn’t get Juliet killed.”

This time it was Shawn who stared in disbelief. “Are you kidding?” he asked. “He was her partner, Gus! He was supposed to look after her. But she's dead, he's not, and you can not convince me that it's anyone's fault but his.”

Gus’s shoulder slumped, and when he looked at Shawn it was with pity in his eyes, which made Shawn’s anger flare up again. He didn’t need to be pitied. Especially not when he knew he was right.

“It was no one’s fault,” Gus said quietly. “Or if you have to assign blame, blame the shooter. He did it, not Lassiter. If you could have seen Lassiter you would have known that he was blaming himself as much as you are. He’s not taking this very well, and the last thing he needs is for us to blame him for something he had no control over.”

“You saw Lassiter?” Shawn asked, his mind suddenly occupied with when and why Gus would have seen him.

“Yeah. I went to the station a few days ago. The Chief called. She wanted to know how you were doing. They’re all taking this very hard, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care,” Shawn said harshly and turned around. “They got her killed, and I don’t care how bad they feel.”

Behind him, Gus sighed heavily, but he didn’t follow him. “I’m going to go,” he said instead. “But I’ll be here on Thursday. Shower. Change your clothes. Because you’re going to this thing whether you want to or not.”

“Whatever,” Shawn said, not turning around.

The only thing he heard after that was the sound of Gus closing the door behind him as he left.


	6. Chapter 6

In their thirty years of friendship, Shawn had done a lot of stupid things because Gus had suggested it. Going to this support group, he thought tiredly, was the stupidest of them all. And it wasn't that he didn't want to be there either. It was more the fact that, while some people might enjoy talking about their feelings, that had never been his thing. He wasn't sure how he felt about everything after Juliet had died, and more than anything he just wanted time. Time to think, to process, and to get over this in his own time. Of course, some people just didn't understand that.

But there he was, at a bereavement support group, and he was surrounded by strangers who were supposed to know how he felt. And who, according to Gus, would be able to help him get over Juliet's death. 

Shawn's problem, however, was that he wasn't sure he wanted to get over her death. If he did, then... He sighed. This was not the place to contemplate these things. So instead of letting his mind wander he turned his attention on the rest of the members of the group, and he listened as they talked, hoping against hope that when it came to him they would simply pass him by or forget he was there.

The first man to speak was a man in his fifties. His name was Phil, and a month ago he had lost his wife of thirty years to cancer. His dark blue eyes and full head of hair aside, when he spoke Shawn couldn't help but be reminded of his father, and he wouldn't have been surprised if he had run into this guy at one of Henry's poker games or fishing trips. He looked like the kind of guy who enjoyed a good rant, and who was used to telling people what he thought of them. But now he just sat there, quiet and timid, like someone had removed his will to live, and Shawn had to look away when he spoke, suddenly reminded of what his dad had looked like in the weeks following his mother's departure.

Next to Phil was Phoenix. He was tall and lanky, and he had lost his girlfriend in a car crash when the car they had been had swerved into the other lane. His girlfriend had been killed instantaneously, and while Phoenix himself had walked away without a scratch, the guilt was evident in his eyes. Shawn thought he must have been tall and proud once, but now his shoulders were hunched, and he refused to meet any of their gazes, simply staring at the floor as he spoke.

Then there was Elisabeth. About Shawn's age, she was a beautiful woman with dark, curly hair, and dark eyes. The way she kept fiddling with her car keys told Shawn that he wasn't the only one who wasn't particularly thrilled about being there, and when their eyes met he gave her a quick smile, which she met.

Her husband, Mark, had been a doctor working in Uganda, and on one of his trips he had caught some undefinable disease, which, by the time it was discovered, had progressed too far for anyone to be able to fix it. When he found out he was sick he had travelled back to the US, and he had died at the hospital a few days after his return.

"My husband and I were going through some rough times," Elisabeth explained. "He travelled almost all the time, and I hardly ever saw him. In the end I think we stayed together because of our daughter Zoey, and because we never actually had time to sit down to talk about what we wanted to do." She looked down, unsurely biting her lip. "When he died I was actually a little relieved. Not because he died, but because it meant we didn't have to avoid talking about it anymore. I miss him a lot, but suddenly it is as if my life has started again." She laughed self-deprecatingly. "I'm sure that makes me a horrible person."

Jacob Hansen, the leader of the group, shook his head. "It doesn't. Feelings like those make you human. But I can't convince you of that right now." He looked around, taking in all of them. "But this is why we are here." He held out his hands to include everyone in the group. "We have lost someone close to us. And all of us have different ways of dealing with this grief." He smiled what Shawn assumed was to be a smile of comfort, but it only served to make Shawn's hair stand on end.

"There are many ways of dealing with grief," Jacob continued, "and one of them is to come here and talk about it, and to learn ways in which you can deal with it and learn to live with it. The feeling of loss will never completely disappear. You will always miss these people. But some day you will see that it gets easier. And part of our work here in this group is to help you get to a point where you can realize this."

Shawn only half-listened to Jacob's words. Right now it sounded like a load of crap, and he wasn't entirely sure he had done the right thing in coming here. He was just about to make up an excuse to go to the bathroom, when Jacob turned to him and nodded.

Shawn stared. "What?"

"Would you like to tell us about yourself?"

He looked at everyone in the circle, suddenly feeling like everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to pour his heart out. He coughed uncomfortably.

"Sure," he said, though he was anything but. "My name is Shawn Spencer. I'm thirty-six years old, and I'm a..." He stopped talking, suddenly unsure of what to say. Juliet had died without him ever telling her the truth about his psychic ability, and that was one of the things that haunted him the most. He should have told her a long time ago, but he had always assumed he would have time. But there hadn't, and suddenly he wasn't so sure he wanted to string people along any more. He had worked up enough of a reputation as a detective in his own right, and while he had no idea what the Chief would do if he ever told her the truth, keeping up the charade suddenly seem a lot less enjoyable.

"I'm a private detective," he said at last, settling for something vague.

"Really?" Jacob said. "That's interesting."

Shawn shrugged. "I guess."

"And why are you here, Shawn?"

He frowned and looked around the group. The girl, Elisabeth, gave him a small smile when his gaze landed on her, and he nodded slowly. "My fiancée died," he said quietly.

"And?"

"And that's it."

Jacob nodded and gave him an encouraging smile. "Okay. That's all we need to know for now. Thank you, Shawn."

Shawn shrugged. "Sure." He shared another look with Elisabeth, then he looked away, not wanting to hear anymore of what was going on. As far as he was concerned, this evening was over for him.

\---

“How was it?” Predictably enough, Gus was waiting for him outside when he came out. He unlocked the car, and Shawn got in.

“It was okay,” he said with a shrug.

"Do you think you'll go back?"

Shawn snorted. He had gone, hadn't he? What would it take for Gus to stop being such a worry-wart? You would think that after having been on Shawn's back about this in the way he had, he would be happy now that he had gotten his wish.

"Shawn?" Gus said again. "Are you going back?"

He was. Jacob had insisted they all return next week, but he didn't want to tell Gus that. Right now he didn't want to talk to anyone. So instead he just shrugged again and said, "Maybe. We'll see."

Gus sighed, but relented, and Shawn felt a flame of anger flare up inside him. What would it take for his friend to fight him on something? He kept giving him all these perfect opportunities. Opportunities that the old Gus would have jumped at. But new Gus just kept on driving and didn't say a word.

"The Chief called," Gus said eventually. "She has a case for us."

Shawn's head snapped up, and he had to fight to keep the panic in his chest from rising. Once it was under control he shook his head. "No."

"No?" The disappointment was evident in his voice.

"No," Shawn repeated. "No cases. I can’t do any cases right now.” 

He waited for the protest that never came, then had to fight to hold back a sigh as once again Gus let it drop.

"How about some lunch then?"

Shawn shook his head. "No, thanks," he said flatly. "Actually, I just want to go home. Do you think you could drop me off there?"

Gus looked at him, and for a split second Shawn thought he saw something resembling defiance in his friend's eyes, but it faded quickly. 

"Yes," Gus said with a nod. “If that’s what you want.”

They spent the rest of the drive in silence, and Shawn's mind kept going over the events of the meeting. It was strange, he thought, his mind going to Elisabeth, and to the few brief looks they had shared throughout the evening. It was strange to look at someone and wonder what it would have been like, had the time and place been different. 

There was no denying that he had changed a lot since meeting Juliet. Not just that. He had been changing ever since he started Psych. And when Juliet came along she had intensified that change in him. He had had to work hard to deserve her, and the Shawn that had stumbled his way through the first few weeks of his new relationship was not the same guy who was sitting there today.

But even so, he hadn’t changed so much that he couldn’t notice a beautiful girl when he saw one. The biggest difference was that where he used to want to hit on any beautiful girl he saw, now he could only compare them to the one who had been the most beautiful of them all. And that, he thought, was the problem. The problem wasn’t that he could never find anyone else. The world was full of beautiful women who would be susceptible to the charms of one fake psychic detective. But for him there could never be anyone else. He had somehow managed to convince the woman of his dreams to marry him, and now that she was gone there could never be anyone else.

“Shawn?” Gus broke him out of his reverie, and Shawn looked away from the window and towards his friend.

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you did this today. Hopefully it’ll help.”

Shawn wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t say so. Instead he just smiled a small half-smile and went back to staring out the window. Eventually they pulled up outside Shawn’s building, and he got out without saying anything.

“How about lunch tomorrow?” Gus asked before Shawn had a chance to close the door.

“Sure,” Shawn said, not able to find an excuse to decline. He could always call and cancel later. “I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, Shawn. See you tomorrow.” And then he drove off.


	7. Chapter 7

The second meeting was every bit as pointless as the first.

The week that had passed had been very long, but Shawn had gotten out of bed every day, and while he had cancelled that first lunch with Gus, Gus had persisted, and on Monday afternoon they had spent the morning at the park, just hanging out. On Tuesday Gus had dropped by Shawn's apartment around noon, and they had eaten lunch together every day since then. It was baby steps, but at least he was getting out.

However, by the time Thursday rolled around again, Shawn was not particularly interested in going to his group. He didn't know if the first meeting had helped at all, and he brushed his recent development off on the fact that more time had passed. Not to mention, he had one very stubborn best friend, who, for some reason, seemed absolutely unable to give up on him. What Shawn had initially thought of as relenting, simply turned out to be Gus giving him the time and space he needed. There was no denying that his friends was in this for the long haul. Shawn would never tell him, but it meant more than he could ever say.

Though as much as he wanted to skip out on his meeting, at six thirty on the dot Gus knocked on his door, and Shawn had no time to protest before Gus had ushered him out of the apartment and into the car.

"I'll pick you up here at nine."

"Fine."

"Good luck."

Shawn scoffed. "Thanks."

They were half-way through the meeting and had just taken a break to get some coffee and donuts when Shawn found himself alone with Elisabeth, the girl who had lost her husband a few months before. Phil and Phoenix were talking quietly in a corner, and Jacob was messing around with some papers in another. Shawn was debating whether to go for the jelly or plain donut, when Elisabeth walked up to him, a cup of coffee in her hand.

He must have been staring at the donuts pretty intently, because when she spoke she said, "They won't burst into flames, you know."

He looked away from the donuts and onto her. "Are you sure? Because just the other day I read about a guy who got his eyebrows singed off by spontaneously combusting donuts. He was devastated. His face will never be the same again."

Elisabeth chuckled and took a sip of her coffee. "You know, I heard about that. Apparently they're considering an eyebrow transplant. They're going to take hair from his head and put it where his eyebrows used to be. It's a huge procedure. Very complicated."

Shawn nodded sagely, and he had to fight hard to keep from patting his own hair self-consciously. Joke or not, someone messing with his hair was not something he took lightly.

"It must be," he said instead. "It's probably just as well that these particular donuts are stale and inedible then. At least I will leave here with my eyebrows intact."

Elisabeth looked at him quizzically. "They're stale?"

"Yup."

"How can you tell?"

"I'm psychic." The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them, the answer to a question like that too instinctive to hold back. He regretted it the moment he said it, though, but by then it was too late.

"Psychic?" Elisabeth asked in surprise, skepticism lacing her words.

Shawn sighed. "Well." He rubbed his neck uncomfortably. He had spent so many years pretending to be psychic, and even now, unsure as he was of how to deal with it, the lies came easier than the truth. "Kind of," he said, settling for something between the two. "Private detective, more like."

Elisabeth frowned. "So you're not psychic?"

"It's a long story. I, uh..." He wet his lips. "It's a long story."

Elisabeth looked at him with pursed lips, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Shawn, was it?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Shawn Spencer."

"Okay, Shawn Spencer." She smiled. "I'm intrigued now. I think I want to hear your story. That is..." She smiled nervously and looked into her coffee. "If you'd like to tell it."

He looked at her, his mind racing. On the one hand he felt guilty for even talking to another woman. He knew that it was irrational, and that he had nothing to be guilty about, but that didn't lessen the slightly sick feeling in his stomach. But on the other hand this was the first time in months that he had felt comfortable talking to someone who wasn't Gus or his dad. And to his surprise it felt nice, and almost a little liberating. So instead of giving into his gut reaction, which was to decline her invitation, he nodded.

"Okay. Maybe I will." Finally he grabbed a jelly donut off the table, and together they made their way back to their seats. When he sat down, Shawn realized he felt a little better than he had when he had gotten there. Reluctantly he admitted that it was nice to be around someone who didn't look at him like he would explode at any moment. And if nothing else, at least this group had given him people who knew what he was going through. That, at least, was something.

"The rest of today's meeting," Jacob said, holding up the stack of papers he had been fiddling with during the break, "will be spent talking about our support systems. The people we have around us; friends, family, co-workers. Anyone we have in our lives who can help us get through this time that we are in right now. But before we do that, I want you all to write your name and phone number on this piece of paper." He started to pass the papers around, followed by a box with pens. Shawn took one, then did as he had been told.

"Once you're done, I want you to pass your paper to the person sitting next to you."

They all did so.

"And then one more time."

He waited for them to pass the papers on one more time, and Shawn noticed that his own piece of paper had ended up with Phil, the gruff guy who reminded him of his dad. Figured. Even here, in the one place that was supposed to be Henry free, he got the guy who liked to yell. Not that he knew for sure, of course, but Shawn recognized the type. He oozed disapproval. It probably shouldn't have been that way, but it made Shawn feel strangely comfortable. At least there was one person here he knew how to relate to.

In his own hands, Shawn realized as he looked at the piece of paper, he held Elisabeth's name and number. He looked at her and they shared a smile. Never had he had any less of an inclination to ask a girl out, and never had he gotten a girl's phone number this easily. Again, it figured. The universe was probably laughing at him right now. Either way, he stuffed the note in his pocket, then turned his attention back to Jacob.

"You will all probably have experienced by now," Jacob said, looking comforting again, "that the people around you don't always behave in the way you expect them to."

Shawn thought about his dad, and about Gus, and he smiled slightly. His dad fed him, and Gus made desperate attempts to boss him around and make him get out of the apartment. He talked about the weather, and about his work, and lately he had started picking fights with him just to get him to say something. These others might have people who behaved strangely around them, but the people in Shawn's life behaved exactly how he expected them to. That didn't mean they understood, though, and so when Jacob continued to speak, Shawn couldn't help but think that maybe what he was saying had a point. Not that he would ever admit it, of course.

"People will try to help in any way they can, but more often than not, what they can is not what we need. They don't understand, and no one expects them to. Each and every person grieve in their own way, but that doesn't mean we can't support each other. And while the people closest to us aren't always able to do that, we also have each other."

He looked around at them and smiled. Shawn looked at the three others, then back at Jacob.

"This is why you now have the name and number of one other person in this group. For the remaining weeks that we are here, your responsibility is to call the person whose number you have at least one time before the next meeting. What you talk about is entirely up to you, but we all need someone to talk to, someone who will understand. And who is better at that than someone who is going through exactly the same thing you are?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't need to. And while Shawn wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of receiving a phone call from Phil, he knew Jacob was making sense. And this way he could get to know Elisabeth a little better too. After all, he had promised to tell her about the psychic thing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, finally, some Lassiter.

"Westminster!"

The name rang through the bullpen of the Santa Barbara Police Department, making everyone within a twenty foot radius flinch and look for the nearest exit. Poor Westminster was the only one looking up, the look on his face that of a man about to be executed.

"Yes, sir," he said, trying to sound confident, but he ended up sounding more like a startled puppy.

"Where the hell are those files on the Downing case? They were supposed to be on my desk an hour ago!"

"Sir, I..." Westminster stammered and pushed his glasses further up on his nose, in the process giving him the look of a raccoon trapped in the headlights.

"Sir, I, what?" Detective Lassiter snapped, glaring at the man as if he could make him burst into flame simply by looking at him.

Westminster stammered again and gestured towards the computer screen. A blue screen was flashing towards them, and Westminster could only point.

"The computer, Sir," he said, all traces of confidence vaporized like fog. "It's not working yet."

"But you're the computer guy," Lassiter snarled acerbically, and to everyone listening in, 'computer guy' suddenly sounded a whole lot like 'rodent'. "Aren't you supposed to fix it? Isn't that why we pay you? If you can't fix it we may as well hire somebody else. Someone equally as useless, but who gets paid a lot less. Someone like --"

"-- me?"

The second voice came out of nowhere, and as soon as it spoke, everything suddenly became deadly quiet. For one, this person had dared talk to Detective Lassiter when he was in one of his moods. Secondly, it wasn't just anyone who had spoken up. Everyone knew this guy. Everyone knew his story.

Having also recognized the voice, Lassiter spun around slowly. When his eyes fell on the newcomer. they flashed, the blue in his eyes suddenly reminiscent of ice cold steel.

"Hey, Lassieface. Missed me?"

Lassiter blinked, for a split second completely taken back. There was a hint of something close to actual emotion in his eyes, but it only took a second for the wall to slam back into place, and his face was once again an impassive mask, betraying nothing but contempt.

"Spencer?" he spat. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Shawn spread his arms wide and grinned carelessly, making Lassiter's eyes narrow, and everyone around them took a step back. No one ever got that look from Lassiter without facing some kind of serious damage.

But it didn't seem to faze Shawn, who simply stood there, grinning, looking for all the world as if he had just strolled in off the street, ready for a day of work and bothering the Head Detective.

"I was in the neighborhood," Shawn said calmly. "Gus and I," he nodded towards his best friend, always a step behind, watching everything in quiet observation, "decided to drop in. See if the old place was still hopping." He grinned at Westminster, who was still trembling, but who also looked relieved that the focus was no longer on him. "Looks like everything is how it's always been."

Lassiter stared, unable to reply, and Gus tried to breathe evenly as he watched the scene unfold. He had no idea exactly what had happened to make Shawn finally agree to take a look at one of the Chief's cases, but when his friend had told him he was interested he hadn't hesitated in turning the car towards the SBPD. But now, faced with the impassive face of Detective Lassiter, as well as Shawn's fake cheerfulness, Gus suddenly wondered if they had made a big mistake in coming there.

"What the hell is everyone looking at? Get back to work!" Lassiter shouted once he realized that everyone was still staring. The normal hustle of the station resumed, and Shawn took the opportunity to saunter further into the station. If it hadn't been for the way he was unable to meet the eyes of anyone he passed, as well as how his smile was slightly distorted by the way he kept clenching his jaw, Gus almost could have believed he really was as relaxed as he pretended to be. But you weren't someone's best friend for thirty years without picking up on a few things, and so it was with his heart in his throat that Gus followed Shawn into the station.

Lassiter rushed after them, and was just about to bark out another expletive when the door to the Chief's office opened, and Chief Vick was in the door. Lassiter's mouth slammed shut, and Shawn's face lit up.

"Chief!" he exclaimed happily, his smile reaching his eyes for the first time since they had gotten out of the car. "I believe I was summoned."

Chief Vick stared from Shawn, to Gus, to Lassiter, then back to Gus again, as if she was looking for an explanation. Gus just shrugged and nodded in acknowledgement, and they shared a quick look before her eyes fell on Shawn.

"Mr. Spencer," she said neutrally. "What a pleasant surprise."

"I couldn't stay away, Chief," Shawn said, and his grin was almost genuine. "I heard my expertise was needed."

Behind them Lassiter spluttered indignantly, but a look from the Chief silenced him.

"Yes," Vick said with a nod. "It definitely is. I already filled Mr. Guster in on most of the details on the phone, and I assume he has told you everything about it."

Shawn nodded. "He did. I am completely caught up and ready to work." He rubbed his hands together. "Now where is my desk?"

"Chief," Lassiter said carefully, "are you sure this is a --"

He was cut off by another look, and he clamped his mouth shut before he stalked over to his desk.

"Lassie!" Shawn called out, spinning around. "Wait up." He jogged over to Lassiter's desk and picked up a file, so casually staring straight ahead, away from Juliet's desk, that it couldn't have been more obvious that he was avoiding it.

"How is he?" the Chief asked quietly, taking a few steps closer to Gus, both of their faces turned in the direction of Shawn and Lassiter, now obviously bickering about something or other. Gus wanted to believe that it was just another one of their usual fights, but the light in Lassiter's eyes, as well as the tension in Shawn's shoulders told him differently. 

Shawn had never said it, but Gus knew that in being unable to deal with his own guilt, he had pushed the blame onto Lassiter for what had happened to Juliet. Gus knew that the fault lay with neither Lassiter nor Shawn, but Shawn didn't seem like he could accept this, and so the flame of guilt Shawn carried around still burned strong, and Gus was worried that now, faced with Lassiter for the first time since Juliet's death, something would happen that would make Shawn snap. He may be doing better, but there was no doubt in Gus's mind that his friend was doing far from as well as he liked to think.

Sighing, Gus looked away from the fight and onto the Chief. "He's..." He made a face. "He's doing better. Most of the time."

Vick nodded. "We all worry about him," she said in a moment of unusually open compassion. "And we're all happy to see that he's ready to come back."

Gus nodded. "So am I." But, looking back at Shawn, now having replaced the grin with a strained smirk, he wasn't so sure that Shawn was as ready as Vick thought. "Excuse me, Chief," he said, nodding at Vick. "I have to..." He trailed off, nodding towards Shawn.

The Chief nodded in response and walked away, but not before she had looked at Shawn and Lassiter one last time. Then she left, her mind probably already occupied with other things.

Gus on his part was not that easily distracted. He couldn't shake the feeling that Shawn was holding on by sheer force of will, and this feeling only intensified when Gus walked up to the two, making Shawn flinch when he spoke.

"What's going on?" he asked, and Shawn spun around, clasping the file in his hand as if his life depended on it.

"This file," he said intensely, waving it in Gus's face, "is what I need to solve this case. But Lassie here," he stuck his thumb across his shoulder, pointing towards Lassiter, "insists that it's police property," he spat out the words, "and that I can't see it."

Gus looked warily from Shawn to Lassiter, and it was all he could do to keep from flinching as Lassiter's blue gaze swept over him. Lassiter's forehead was furrowed in concentration, the frown line deep as a canyon between his eyebrows. But instead of the expected jab he clenched his jaw and grabbed on to the file in Shawn's hand before he pulled it out of his grasp.

"Spencer," he said between clenched teeth, "leave the damn file alone! You don't need it. There is nothing in there that is relevant to this case."

Shawn's face darkened. "No, Lassie. You might not need it." He snapped the file out of Lassiter's hand, and Gus almost thought he could hear the Head Detective growl. "I, on the other hand," Shawn said, flipping the file open, "am able to see things that you are not. I'm on this case for a reason. You might need a second perspective."

"Shawn," Gus said quietly, wetting his lips. He had watched the exchange in silence, but now he recognized the look in Shawn's eyes. While he had no idea how Lassiter managed to stay this calm, he knew that it wouldn't be long before Shawn said something that would make the other man snap. Uncharacteristically calm or not, Shawn could read people better than anyone, and when he aimed to hit it didn't take long for his arrows to strike.

"What's up?" Shawn asked Gus.

Gus leaned back to rest on the desk behind him, and he gave Shawn a level look. "Maybe we should let Lassiter get back to work. We can go do some investigating of our own, while he works from here."

Scoffing, Shawn stared at him as if he had grown a second head. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "This is where the action is. This is where it happens." He turned to Lassiter. "Isn't that so?"

Lassiter's eyes darkened even further, and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a strained sigh.

"Shawn, come on," Gus pressed on. He still couldn't believe Lassiter hadn't snapped yet, but he knew the Detective well enough to know that he was nearing his breaking point. And special circumstances or not, when that happened, Gus, for one, wanted to be as far away as possible. 

He looked at Shawn imploringly, almost begging him to listen. This had never been this hard before. In the past, whenever Shawn and Lassiter were at odds, someone always intervened. And, he realized, that someone had almost always been Juliet. She was the only one the two of them would listen to, and without her there to cut in, the fight had a chance to escalate in a way it never had before.

"What?" Shawn snapped, and Gus blinked and took a step back, giving his friend a serious look. Their gaze locked for a few seconds, until suddenly Shawn's entire demeanor changed and his shoulders fell, and he dropped his head, looking down at the floor.

Across Shawn's back, Gus and Lassiter shared a look, and for a split second Gus could swear he saw Lassiter's eyes cloud over in something that resembled compassion, but it faded before Gus had a chance to analyze it properly.

"Get him out of here," Lassiter said coldly, and for once Gus couldn't help but agree.

"No." 

In front of them, Shawn lifted his head. His face was hard, and his fists were clenched at his side.

"Shawn?"

"No," Shawn repeated. "We're not leaving." He looked at Lassiter. "We're on this case, Lassie," he said coldly, the sound of his voice sending chills down Gus's spine. "We're on this case, and we're not leaving until we solve it."

"What's it to you, Spencer?" Lassiter scoffed. "Why did you come back anyway? We did fine before you showed up, and we did fine after you disappeared. What makes you think we need you now?"

Gus could have sworn that a hush fell over the bullpen as soon as Lassiter's words were out of his mouth. Holding his breath, Gus watched as Shawn's jaw clenched. Then, without saying a word his head snapped around, and for the first time since entering the precinct his eyes fell on Juliet's desk. It looked nothing like how Juliet's desk had been, it's new occupant having long since made it his or her own. But as Shawn finally allowed himself to look at it, Gus could see the pain written all over his friend's face, and he reached out a hand, to do what he did not know, but it was too late. Shawn had already spun around, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he put a hand over his mouth and all but ran through the room.

Gus called after him, and without thinking, without looking back, he turned around and followed him through the building. But when he came outside there were no signs of Shawn anywhere, and it was with a sick feeling in his stomach that he went to the car, already berating himself for having brought his friend to the station. He should have known it was too soon, but he wanted so badly for everything to go back to normal. He had thought, foolishly perhaps, that going back to work was a step in the right direction But if anything, the scene he had just witnessed had proved exactly how wrong he was. The result of which was that Shawn had run off to God knew where, while all Gus could do was get in the car and try to find him. He may have messed up big time in bringing Shawn to the station, but if he knew one thing, it was that now was not the time to dwell on that. First he had to find Shawn, then they could deal with everything else.


End file.
